A month after adopting my four-year-old daughter, she came up to me and said, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.”
It had been a month since we officially became a family of three.
Bringing Ioana home took months of preparation—paperwork, planning, and visits to her home. She was shy but had a spark we hoped would grow. As her mother, I was ready to give her all the love she deserved.
Mihai was overjoyed. After struggling for years to start a family, adopting Ioana felt like fate had finally brought us together. But just weeks into our new life, I started noticing something unsettling.
Ioana watched Mihai with a strange nervousness and clung to me. I reassured myself, thinking she was just adjusting.
Then one afternoon, while I was folding laundry, she turned to me and softly said, “Mommy, don’t trust Daddy.”
My heart pounded as her words froze me in place. She wasn’t angry—her voice was quiet, almost like a child’s warning.
I knelt down and gently asked, “Why, sweetheart?”
She gave a small, sad smile before answering.
“He’s not who he says he is,” she said, her lips curling into a sorrowful grin.
Confused, I pressed further. “Ioana, what do you mean? Your father loves you. Did something happen?”
She hesitated, nervously twisting the hem of her shirt with her small hands. Then, in a hushed voice, she said, “He pretends.”
She paused before continuing. “At the orphanage… I saw him. He was angry.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Are you upset? When did this happen?”
Ioana looked down, struggling to find the right words. “Before you came. He was there. He yelled at the woman who took care of us. He said bad things about me.”
Her words were scattered and confusing. Mihai had never mentioned going to the orphanage alone. I thought we had gone through every step of the process together.
“Sweetheart, that’s not possible. Maybe you saw someone who looked like Daddy?” I said, trying to reassure both her and myself.
But Ioana shook her head firmly. “It was him. He was scary. I remember his voice.”
I wanted to dismiss it as a misunderstanding, but the way she spoke felt too real. Later that evening, while Mihai played with Ioana in the living room, I quietly slipped into his office. Something inside me told me I needed to find answers.
His laptop was open, and I noticed a folder labeled “Personal.” Curiosity got the best of me, and when I opened it, I found emails exchanged with someone from the orphanage. One email, sent months before we even met Ioana, made my stomach turn:
“There are concerns about Ioana’s behavior. Could she not be the right fit? Let’s discuss other options.”
Why would Mihai, who had seemed so excited about the adoption, have doubts about Ioana? And why had he kept this from me?
Hearing Mihai’s footsteps approaching, I quickly closed the laptop. My mind was racing with questions, but one thing was certain—I needed answers.
That night, while Mihai slept, I whispered to Ioana, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”
What had Mihai done? And why was Ioana so afraid of him?